Immature? Definitely. Puerile? Almost certainly. Regrets? Not too many as it goes…
When I was about 18 and temping at a parts warehouse in Coventry, there was a few ‘characters’ joining me in the stint. One of whom was a nerdy chap called Kevin who tried too hard to be popular and as a result, nobody really liked him. Another one was a rather attractive (yes I did, before you ask) but mentalist girl called Susan. (We called her ‘hollow legs’ because she would always ‘try’ to match us drink for drink, and to her credit, she nearly always succeeded.)

We used to do the standard ‘work’ pranks – padlocking in the toilets, joke names over the tannoy etc, but the one thing that kept us going through the whole time we were there was the ‘notes on the back’ prank.

Part of our job was to label up crates with A5 size sticky labels. Cue a ‘joke’ statement on the label and some ninja-esque stealth, and the label could be placed on anybody’s back without them noticing.

It started small – we would write ‘TWAT’ and leave it on the boss……then we would write ‘I THINK CUM IS YUMMY’ and place it on the biggest, hardest, angriest looking bastard in the place.

One time, I didn’t notice the two carefully placed notes saying ‘FUCK MY ARSE!’ and ‘GO ON, YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO…’, and after work I happily went shopping, pushing my trolley round Tesco’s wondering why I was getting funny looks and the mothers were averting their children’s eyes. Nobody told me – I only realised as I took my T-shirt off that night.

Sue once arrived into work dressed not in her usual studenty rags, but smartly suited and booted in black. Turns out she was leaving early to go to a distant relative’s funeral. We first thought of putting ‘RENT-A-MOURNER’ on her back, but then someone had a ‘better’ idea. I understand she actually made it through the church doors with the sign saying ‘I’M GLAD THE OLD CUNT IS DEAD’ proudly on display.

As you can see, despite the fact I went round like a paranoid twunt checking my back every 2 minutes, we all got on rather swimmingly and tried to see the funny side of whatever happened to us

Before long the time of year approached that my folks would go on holiday, I would house / dog-sit, and would throw a party. This time, the warehouse lot were invited as well as the usual bunch.

Anyhoo, Kev arrived and proceeded to get the kind of pissed you only read about on these pages. Chucking up all over the shop, being shouty, twattish and generally obnoxious. He was however, one of the first to fall asleep. In the dog’s bed. FATAL ERROR

Of course, we all began to draw over his face with permanent marker…dotted lines with ‘cut here’ across his forehead, fake scars and big eyebrows – the works. He didn’t move. So we covered him in shaving foam. He didn’t budge. We then proceeded to strip the bastard. Still nothing. But then we had a thought...

We neatly folded his entire clothes ensemble into a small square, soaked it with water and put it in the deep freeze. If any of us went into the back room we would habitually pour another jug of water over the lot. Water was soon swapped for blackcurrant juice. Funny japes all round. Next day, Kev awoke to discover a solid block of purple in the freezer.

What we hadn’t thought of is that the knob-cheese had been trying to impress us by wearing some designer stuff totalling about £500 – If I remember correctly his Armani Jeans alone cost about £200.

Also, his wallet containing £100 was inside them at the time. Oops

On Kev’s last day at the warehouse he was ‘crucified’ – i.e tied to a ‘cross’ of two planks of wood, debagged (again) by the old ladies, had Swarfega and iron filings shoved down his grots then had it rubbed in.

Like I said, he wasn’t really very popular.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 14 Dec 2007, 10:57, Reply)